


The Pursuit of Unhappiness - Missing Scenes

by Ely_Baby



Series: The Blossom and the Dragon [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ely_Baby/pseuds/Ely_Baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scenes from <i>The Pursuit of Unhappiness</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Auror Ronald Weasley and the Difficult Case

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by [QueenBtchoftheUniverse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBtchoftheUniverse).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron confesses to Hermione how he feels about Pansy's trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from Chapter Ten, _A Question of Conscience_ , of _The Pursuit of Unhappiness_.

***

Someone tore Pansy Parkinson from Ron’s grasp as soon as their feet were firmly standing on the cold floor of the Ministry. He stared as two Aurors bound her wrists behind her back, made her kneel in the middle of the Department and pointed their wands at her. He was still too shocked to do that himself.

“What was it, Boss?” Savage asked him as he walked towards them. “Did you arrive on time?”

Ron looked at the Auror. It was still weird to hear someone older than himself call him ‘boss’, but Ron knew that it was a term of endearment rather than a title. He was Deputy Head Auror, but still he didn’t feel like he was half as experienced as he should have been for that job. For once, when Harry had been made Head Auror he hadn’t envied him at all. He was happy that he wasn’t at his place.

Ron shook his head. “We didn’t,” he replied calmly, pocketing his wand. “He was already dead.” He looked at the two Aurors who were pointing their wands to a seemingly shocked Parkinson. “Take her to one of the underground cells,” he instructed, “and untie her before leaving her in there.”

Savage looked at Parkinson with a scrutinising stare as the Aurors put her on her feet and pushed her forward to walk in front of them. Her small and bare feet stumbled on the uneven floor and she almost fell to her knees, but managed to steady herself at the last minute. “She doesn’t seem very dangerous,” commented Savage.

Ron didn’t know what to reply. He had known Parkinson back at school, and she was definitely not the most agreeable person he had ever met – he had met worse though – but from that to being a murderer there was a substantial difference.

“Are you alright, Boss?” asked Savage as he stared at Ron with concern.

Ron looked down at the older man. “I know her,” he finally sighed.

Savage gaped at him, taken aback. “You do?” he asked.

Ron nodded. “She was in my year at Hogwarts,” he explained. “Different house, she was a Slytherin.” Ron glanced at the corner behind which Parkinson had disappeared. “But we had a lot of classes together.”

Savage nodded. “I understand,” he replied quietly.

Somehow, Ron felt an incredible sadness at the thought that he had just arrested Pansy Parkinson with the accusation of murder. Not that he had ever liked her, or thought about her ever since the last time that he had seen her at Hogwarts as she suggested to give Harry to Voldemort to save her skin. Still, though, she looked so fragile and defenceless that Ron couldn’t help wondering if she was the butcher at all.

“Shouldn’t you be home at this time, Boss?” asked Savage, checking his watch. “I thought you were doing the day shift this week.”

Ron snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes,” he replied, frowning, “I was about to go when I got the Floo call.” He checked the time. Blimey! It was late. “Right,” he added, ruffling his ginger locks with a hand, “I’m out of here. I’ll fill in the forms tomorrow morning.”

Savage nodded. “Good night, Boss.”

“Night,” replied Ron, turning on his heels and walking towards the lifts. They were empty at that time of night, and he was grateful for the peace that surrounded him when the doors closed in front of him. He couldn’t believe that Parkinson had decided to let herself get arrested right when Harry was away. Right when the whole Auror Department was under his control, as if he wasn’t busy enough already.

The doors opened and Ron stepped into the Atrium. It was almost completely empty, only a couple of employees were chatting quietly near the fountain, and they acknowledged Ron with a nod when he walked past them.

He walked to one of the fireplaces and grabbed hold of a fistful of Floo Powder. He stepped inside and said his address loud and clear, his voice almost echoing on the walls of the empty Atrium. Green flames engulfed him and before he could think about his house, he was already stumbling through his own fireplace. He almost fell on the coffee table that Hermione had bought during their last trip to Morocco as he tripped over one of Rose’s toys.

The living-room was dark and silent and Ron imagined his two girls were already fast asleep in their rooms. He considered going to the kitchen to see if Hermione had left him something to eat, but decided that he was not hungry after all. Instead he climbed up the stairs that led to the first floor and stopped for a moment in front of the open door of his daughter’s room. Rose was sleeping in her little bed with her crimson curls scattered on the pillow. Her tiny hands were resting next to her head and one of her small feet had wormed its way out of the blanket. He walked to her, covered her and caressed her hair, plating a kiss on her forehead. She stirred, but didn’t wake up.

Ron smiled and walked out of the room. Silently, he opened the door next to Rose’s and stepped in his own bedroom. Hermione was lying on the big, four-poster bed, giving him her back. Her breath was soft and regular as she slept. She looked so peaceful. So peaceful that Ron almost felt bad to do what he was about to do.

He took off his shoes and crawled on the bed next to her and knelt with his buttocks against the sole of his feet. He looked down at her, a smile stretching his lips as he brushed a curl from her face. He lowered his head next to her and kissed her temple.

“Hermione?” he whispered softly. “Are you awake?” The answer was obviously no, but he needed to talk to her. She was the only one who would understand.

She stirred softly, but her eyes didn’t open.

“Hermione?” he called a bit more loudly.

She let out a soft groan, still keeping her eyes closed.

“Are you awake?”

“No,” came the feeble reply.

Ron smiled. “Yes, you are,” he quipped.

Hermione groaned again and opened her eyes for a fraction of a second, before closing them again. “What time is it?” she murmured sleepily.

“Almost two,” replied Ron. He bit his bottom lip and caressed Hermione’s hair on the pillow. “Can we talk?”

Hermione brought a hand to her eyes, brushing them vigorously as she yawned. “Can it wait? I have a meeting tomorrow morning.”

Ron let out a sigh. Of course, how very inconsiderate of him. After all, what was the rush? Parkinson would be there for at least a week, he didn’t need to wake up Hermione to talk about her. “Sure,” he murmured dejectedly.

Hermione put her hand back under the cover and smiled in gratitude. Ron stood up from the bed and went to pick up his pyjamas from the chair next to the wardrobe. He started to slowly undress as he found his uniform’s buttons in the darkness.

“Why are you so late, anyway?” asked Hermione softly. “I thought your shift ended at midnight.”

Ron looked towards her and in the moonlight saw that she hadn’t moved. “We got a Floo Call from someone who wanted to report a crime,” he let her know, “and we arrested a possible murderer.”

“Okay,” murmured Hermione sleepily.

Ron bit his bottom lip. “It was Pansy Parkinson,” he breathed out gravely.

Hermione sat up as quickly as she could in her sleep deprived state. She brought both fists to rub her eyes and Ron thought that she looked very much like a little girl at that moment. “What?” she asked, her voice slightly higher than before. “The murderer or the victim?”

“The murderer,” he replied softly, “the victim was her husband, Mr Borgin.”

Hermione’s eyes shot open as she looked at her husband in disbelief. “Mr Borgin? Of Borgin and Burkes?” she asked. “She was married to him?”

Ron nodded, happy that they were finally talking. “Apparently so,” he replied calmly, “and get this: Astoria Malfoy was the one to report the crime.”

Hermione crossed her legs on the bed and turned on the light. “What?” she asked again. “Draco Malfoy’s wife? How did she know?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders as he now managed to get undressed much more quickly with the light on. “She produced a letter that apparently Parkinson had written to Malfoy – Draco Malfoy – where she confessed that she was going to kill him.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, that was not very intelligent of her,” she sentenced, “but why write to Malfoy?”

Ron wore his pyjama bottoms and discarded the top on the chair. He walked to the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth, before sliding under the covers next to Hermione. “Well, weren’t they an item once?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” she replied slowly, “like in Hogwarts, ages ago.” Then her sleepy face seemed to be deep in concentration. “Do you think…”

“I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully, “it would make sense though…” He looked at her. “Malfoy and Parkinson have an extra-conjugal relationship, Parkinson wants to kill her husband, Malfoy’s wife finds out and in spite she reports her.”

Hermione gave him an amused smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “that makes much more sense than thinking that a Malfoy would report a crime because she is a good citizen.”

Ron nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

Hermione let out a soft chuckle before getting closer to Ron. She stretched her neck to plant a brief kiss on his lips before she enlaced her arms with his and leaned her head against his side. “Is that why you woke me up?” she asked amused. “To tell me about this soap opera?”

Ron let his arm slide around her shoulders as he pulled her towards him. “Kind of,” he admitted, “I just…” His words trailed away as he thought of what to say. Finally, he understood what he wanted to ask. “Do you think that Pansy Parkinson would be able to kill someone?”

Hermione’s hand came to rest on his bare chest as she drew little circles with her fingertips. “I don’t know,” she replied quietly, “I wouldn’t have thought so when we were at Hogwarts.” She sighed. “I mean, she was annoying and cruel when she wanted to be, but she just didn’t strike me like the kind of person that would have been able to kill somebody.” She swallowed. “People change, though, don’t they?” She looked up at Ron. “Why? You don’t think she did it?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he replied softly, “it’s just that when we Apparated there she was… she was scared and in shock. Like she couldn’t have just killed a man. She looked too  _traumatised_.” Ron shook his head. “I’ve arrested quite a few wizards and witches, and I know a murderer when I see one.”

Hermione withdrew a little to look at him. “And she didn’t look like she had just killed a man?”

Ron shook his head. “No,” he replied firmly, “I’m telling you, Hermione. She didn’t look like a killer at all.”

She brought a hand to his face to make him look at her. “Ron, if that’s what you think, you have to let the Ministry know that,” she told him seriously.

“And tell them what, Hermione?” his voice was heavy with gloom. “That my guts are telling me that she is not the killer?” He shook his head. “Plus she wrote that damn letter…”

Hermione smiled softly as she hid her face against his neck and kissed his collarbone. “It really bothers you,” she breathed softly.

“It does,” he stated forcefully. “Bloody hell, I don’t want to send an innocent to Azkaban.”

“Are they going to have a trial for her?” she asked gently.

“They bloody well have to,” he grunted.

Hermione breathed against his sensitive skin and he revelled in the sensation. “Listen,” she murmured softly, “maybe just talk to Shacklebolt. Tell him what you think. He listens. Sometimes.”

Ron sighed. “Yes,” he agreed. He kissed the top of her head and slowly slid down on the bed until they were both lying under the covers. “You can go back to sleep, now,” he murmured against her hair.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked gently, yawning in anticipation.

He nodded and turned off the light. “Yes,” he whispered, “I just needed to talk to you.”

Hermione smiled against his shoulder. “Glad I could help,” she mumbled sleepily.

Ron smiled at her tired tone of voice. “Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” she murmured back before her breathing stabilised and Ron knew that she had once again fallen asleep.

***

Shacklebolt stood up. “Case closed,” he finally announced as the trial was brought to an end.

Ron stood quickly. He grabbed Parkinson with a grip that he hoped was not too tight and pushed her towards the end of the row. He had to get her out of the Courtroom before the press could reach her and ask for an interview. The Ministry didn’t particularly like when the Daily Prophet interviewed people who had been unjustly accused of murder and had later been found innocent. They always managed to turn the tables on them as if the Ministry was the only one to blame for those mistakes.

Parkinson didn’t resist him as he pushed her through a small side-door and into a corridor. Her petite body seemed to be completely at his mercy as he shoved her past doors and behind sharp corners, until they reached a wooden door with the sign ‘Room 552’. Ron pushed it open and made her walk in.

It was a small, comfortable room, where they took the convicts that had to wait for the trial to finish or for their documents to be finalised to finally leave the Ministry. There was a couch on the other side of the room, an old, ugly thing covered in red velvet, and a table with a couple of chairs in the middle of the space. On the left there were some shelves covered in books and magazines.

Parkinson stood in the middle of the room without moving, her back to Ron. She seemed in need to be given orders to be able to do something, she seemed still in shock and Ron thought that she had all the reasons to be.

Ron swallowed. He felt absolutely ecstatic at the thought that she had been cleared of all charges, probably too delighted for it to be right. But he was just glad that the Ministry didn’t have another case like Sirius Black.

But now, he felt incredibly embarrassed in her presence. He didn’t know what to say nor how to behave. Right now, she looked so different from what he remembered her to be, and he would have been much more at ease if she turned and said something nasty to him. She had tried to retort something after her medical exam, but Ron had ignored her as she hadn’t sounded convincing at all.

“Parkinson,” he called her softly, trying to attract her attention.

She only half-turned her head to show him that she was listening.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You have to wait here until your papers are ready,” he explained in the most business-like voice he could muster, “then an employee will come to bring you to the office where you’ll be given back your wand, your documents, and your belongings.”

She didn’t move.

“Also, you can ask them for information on things like changing your last name back to Parkinson or the burial of your late husband,” he murmured and regretted it instantaneously since he could see her cringe.

He changed the subject quickly. “Would you like something to eat? Or maybe to drink?” he asked hastily.

She didn’t move, nor reply to him.

He didn’t push her. “Okay,” he added slowly, “you relax here and wait for someone to come.” He stepped back towards the door. “And I’ll just go.”

When he started to close the door behind him, her voice made him stop. “Weasley,” she called him softly.

“Yes, Parkinson?” he replied, his eyes darting to her.

“Thank you.”

Ron’s lips parted slightly in surprise. He would have never imagined to hear Pansy Parkinson thank him for something, but he also would have never imagined that someone would take away her son from her and kill him because he was inadequate. He assumed people could change, especially when they went through as much as she had. “I… yes… that’s all right,” he stammered.

Still, she wouldn’t look at him and Ron decided that that was the best moment to close the door and leave quietly, for he couldn’t have thought of anything to say that didn’t involve profound excuses from his part for having arrested her. He closed the door, and when he found himself alone in the corridor he closed his eyes for a moment. Everything felt so surreal to him. The fact that he was worrying about Parkinson, that he was pitying her. Those were such foreign thoughts. But they weren’t at Hogwarts anymore, and Pansy was not the nasty, little girl in Slytherin anymore.

“Hey Boss, you alright?” asked Savage as he walked to him.

Ron opened his eyes to look at the man who seemed to constantly know where to find him. “Yes,” he breathed.

The older Auror nodded. “We brought Mr Burke in what was Mrs Borgin’s cell,” he informed him, “but I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation upstairs.”

Ron frowned. “What’s happening?” his voice was tired. All he wanted was to go and find Hermione and tell her everything.

“Mr Malfoy,” Savage told him, “he says he wants to see Mr Burke.”

Ron snorted. “Malfoys always think they can do as they please,” he grumbled. “Have you told him that he simply can’t?”

Savage shook his head. “I didn’t tell him anything,” he replied, “I was just walking by and heard him talking to Proudfoot. He seemed quite impatient.”

Ron groaned. “I’ll talk to him,” he sighed. “Can I ask you a favour, Savage?” he added, his cheeks flushing slightly as he spoke.

“Sure, Boss,” replied the man quietly.

“Can you discreetly ask for Mrs Borgin’s meals to be detracted from my salary?” he asked, his voice slightly dry. He felt like he had to add something else to explain his gesture, but didn’t want to and apparently Savage didn’t need a reason for his actions because he nodded and smiled softly at his request before walking away.

***

Ron knocked on the Hermione’s office door. His day couldn’t have been more bizarre than that. First Parkinson thanking him, then Malfoy. He needed something familiar, he needed someone who hadn’t gone completely off the rails.

“Come in,” Hermione’s voice reached his ears slightly muffled by the heavy wooden door.

He pushed the door open and walked into his wife’s office, which was clean and tidy as always. He closed the door at his back and offered her a soft smile. “Are you busy?” he asked her quietly.

Hermione finished writing something on a parchment and rolled it up, her fingers covered in ink. She looked at her husband, a smile stretching her lips as she sealed the parchment. “No, no,” she replied quickly, “I was waiting for you.” She had a look at the clock on the wall. “Merlin, have you been in the courtroom up until now? Why did it last so long?”

Ron walked towards her and sat on one of the two armchairs that she had in her office. The large, wooden desk divided him from her. “No,” he replied calmly, “I mean yes, it lasted a lot more than we expected, but… I wasn’t in there until now.”

Hermione nodded, biting her bottom lip. “And?” she asked softly, and Ron was glad to hear a slight nervousness in her voice, as if he wasn’t the only one who was worried for a former Slytherin.

He smiled softly. “She was cleared of all charges.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good news,” she told him gently. “Isn’t that good news, Ron?”

“Of course it is, Hermione,” he replied, taken a bit aback at her question.

She cocked her head a little, a concerned expression on her face. “You don’t seem too happy,” she pointed out.

Ron shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I am happy. Really. It’s just…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows to urge him on. “Just?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s just what Mr Burke said.”

“Mr Burke?” asked Hermione without understanding. “The other half of Borgin and Burkes? Didn’t he die decades ago?”

“Yes, this is his brother,” he lowered his eyes, “he is the one who killed Mr Borgin. He came in the courtroom and just simply confessed his crime.”

Hermione looked at him without understanding, and she had all the right not to, since Ron had never mentioned Mr Burke at all when he had talked to her about this case. “He did?” she asked puzzled. “Why? For money? Something to do with the shop?”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “You’d think, right?” he asked thoughtfully. “But no. He said it was because of the things that Mr Borgin had done to his wife.”

Hermione furrowed her brow and Ron felt sorry for her. He knew he had already told her too much to go back now. She would ask what things, and then he would tell her and she wouldn’t like any of them.

Surely enough, after a few seconds of silence she asked softly, “What things?”

Ron took a deep breath and started to tell her everything that Mr Burke had told in Courtroom Ten. Hermione’s reactions matched perfectly with what he had imagined. Her eyes filled with horror as he told her about the Cruciatus Curse, about the torture and abuse he had inflicted to Pansy Parkinson, about the rapes. She paled visibly as he told her about Pansy’s child.

When he finished his revolting tale, Hermione was looking at him with wide eyes and her hands over her lips, a shocked look on her face. “That’s horrible,” she breathed after some long minutes of silence, “horrible, horrible, horrible.” She, who had always been so wordy, didn’t seem able to find anything else to say.

“I know,” muttered Ron gloomily, “horrible.”

Hermione shook her head. “Nobody should ever go through something like that,” she murmured, “nobody.” She lowered her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was dripping with emotion, “Her poor son, taken away from her… I could never imagine…”

Ron looked at her as she took out a handkerchief from a drawer and blew her nose. She was surely thinking about Rose and what that would feel like if someone had taken her away from them the moment she was born. He had done the same and he was sure that imagining it wasn’t even close to how it had felt in reality. How Parkinson felt.

He stretched a hand on the desk and she grabbed it. She looked up at him and he saw that her eyes were shining with tears.

“I told her that I was sorry,” he murmured gently, “but I don’t feel like that was appropriate.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “You never know what to say in those situations,” she soothed him and he knew she was right. He had never found a book that taught you how to behave when you found out that the nasty girl from your childhood had gone through abuse after abuse since the last time you’ve seen her.

“I paid for her meals,” he added, swallowing, “I was just there signing the bill.”

Hermione shook her head. “That stupid rule that you have to pay your meals if you’ve been convicted unjustly,” she sentenced bitterly, “as if it was your fault.” She squeezed his hand again. “Have you asked her if she… I don’t know… she needs something…” She looked away, probably trying to think about what Parkinson might have wanted. “A new job maybe here at the Ministry…”

Ron smiled weakly. “I tried to ask her, she told me to shut up,” he replied truthfully.

Hermione let out a nervous chuckle. “Honestly,” she sighed feebly, a soft smile on her lips.

He took a deep breath. “I think I have to go back down,” he told her, “I have documents to sign and my deposition to look over.” He stood up and moved closer to Hermione. “Percy was taking notes, but he looked a bit emotional at some points. I have to be sure that he didn’t screw up anything.” He leaned in to kiss her and she hummed against his lips, her hand still tight around his.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, kissing her again. “Why don’t we go out for dinner?”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “With Rose,” she suggested.

Ron kissed her again. “Of course, with Rose,” he agreed gently. “I love you.”

Hermione smiled against his lips. “I love you too.”


	2. The Misbehaving Daughter-in-Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astoria has put the whole Malfoy family in danger of being exposed to a scandal. Lucius can't possibly ignore that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from Chapter Ten, _A Question of Conscience_ , of _The Pursuit of Unhappiness_.

***

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Lucius.”

“I really do beg to differ, dear.”

Narcissa stared at her husband with increasingly cold eyes. Lucius, on the other hand, glanced at her briefly, before reverting his stare on the letters he had laid on the desk in front of him.

“She was just trying to protect her family,” she reminded him coldly.

Lucius picked up the letters and put them aside. Under them the Daily Prophet lay open on the article concerning young Mrs Borgin and the nasty accusations that had been moved to her.

“Was she?” asked Lucius thoughtfully. He looked up and stared coldly at Narcissa. “Or was she trying to dispose of our dear Pansy?”

Narcissa stiffened. “Don’t call her that, Lucius,” she hissed, “she is not  _our_   _dear_   _Pansy_.”

Lucius would have liked to reply that Pansy was indeed dear to him, but it would have been a moot point. He hadn’t seen her since the night before her wedding, and even though he still remembered the moments they had spent together fondly, he couldn’t have called her ‘dear’ after all. That was his son’s prerogative.

Finally, a figure appeared in the doorway. A beautiful, small young lady, with brown curls and big, innocent-looking eyes.

“Ah,” smirked Lucius, leaning back against his chair, “Astoria. Good, good. Come in.” He looked meaningfully at Narcissa, letting her know, without having to talk, that he would rather have that conversation alone with their daughter-in-law.

Narcissa raised her chin haughtily before standing up from the armchair. Lucius saw the two women exchanging a knowing look, before Astoria took her mother-in-law’s seat and Narcissa walked towards the door.

“Close it,” ordered Lucius to his wife as she walked out.

As soon as the heavy, wooden door was shut, Lucius’ attention shifted back on his son’s wife. She looked calm and slightly detached, as if she thought her presence there was highly unnecessary.

“I’m afraid, Astoria,” he started, his voice calm, “that you disappointed me immensely.”

The girl took a deep breath and something flashed in her eyes. Annoyance? Anger? “Did I Lucius?” she asked, faking her most innocent tone.

Lucius furrowed his brow. “Indeed,” he replied.

Astoria brushed her curls away from her eyes. “Is it because I reported my husband’s slut to the Ministry?” her voice didn’t betray any emotion.

He looked at her with interest. “No,” he replied calmly, “it’s because you have put this family –  _your_  family – in danger of being exposed to a scandal.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and joined his hands in front of his mouth. “But most importantly, you are putting Draco at risk of being convicted.”

Astoria flashed him a soft smile. “I hardly think that that’s a possibility,” she told him, “I’m sure the members of the Wizengamot are wise enough to understand who the culprit is.”

Lucius cocked his head, interested in what that little minx thought. “You think Pansy killed Mr Borgin, don’t you?” he asked amused.

She frowned slightly, as if she found it ridiculous that he would suggest anything different. “Who else?” she asked back slightly annoyed.

Lucius nodded. “I see,” he replied softly, “you do understand that Draco was in Pansy’s flat while the crime took place, don’t you?”

“Why do you think I’ve waited until he was back to Floo the Aurors?” she retorted irritated.

Lucius smiled softly. “Thank Merlin, you are not as dense as one might think, then,” he replied, “but I’m given the understanding that you don’t particularly like Pansy, is that correct?”

“How can one like someone like her?” she asked with disdain.

Lucius pursued his lips. “Why?” he asked interested. “How is she? Is she a slut? Is she stupid? Is she ugly?” He stared intently at her. “Is she  _deceitful_?”

Astoria smiled cruelly. “You know her better than I do, Lucius.”

“Interesting,” he continued calmly, “then why on earth would you report a person to the Ministry when she could so well accuse your husband at her place?”

Astoria looked taken aback at his admission. Her eyes widened with the realisation of what she had done, yet, when she spoke, she seemed unable to understand that she was wrong. “She wouldn’t…”

“You agreed,” he reminded her, “she is deceitful.”

Astoria bit her crimson bottom lip until her lipstick smudged on her teeth. “Yes,” she agreed nervously, “but you know she wouldn’t.” Then her voice iced over as she added, “She loves him, doesn’t she?”

Lucius raised his eyebrows. “Yes, let’s pretend she won’t accuse Draco,” he conceded, “she will be found guilty and sent to Azkaban.”

“As it should be,” hissed Astoria.

Lucius ignored her remark. “Aren’t you concerned about your husband’s reaction in case that would happen?” he asked her softly.

Astoria’s hatred-filled eyes washed over Lucius. “I’m not defenceless, Lucius,” she hissed.

He shook his head amused. “No, Merlin, nobody is suggesting that.” He let out a mirthless laughter. “But you have to remember that she is – apart from his son – the only person he has ever loved.” He stared at her. “And you might just be the one who has taken her away from him.”

Astoria raised her chin in a haughty gesture. “I thought there was no room for love in this family,” she let him know coldly.

Lucius nodded softly. “I thought that too,” he agreed, “but I guess even the best of us can make mistakes.”

Astoria didn’t reply, but Lucius knew that he had struck a chord. He knew that the Greengrass family was different from the Malfoys, that at the beginning of their marriage there had been a time where Astoria had yearned for Draco’s love. He knew how much his words hurt her, and that pleased him immensely.

“You may go,” he finally dismissed, “but I want you to remember this: this family comes before anything else. It comes before love, it comes before good and evil, and it certainly comes before your petty, vindictive games.” He looked at her with a deadly glare. “Am I understood?”

Astoria looked livid at her father-in-law, but when she spoke her voice was submissive, “Yes, Sir.”

Lucius smiled. “Good,” he replied gently, “now, off you go. I have an appointment with Mr Bolden.” And with that he let her know that their conversation was over.


	3. A Healer's Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to be Draco Malfoy's Healer, especially when he has a wife like Astoria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from Chapter Thirteen, _A Life without Her_ , of _The Pursuit of Unhappiness_.

***

“Call my wife,” murmured Mr Malfoy feebly.

Victoire Lupin looked at him pitifully. If only he could listen to her. There was a fifty percent chance that the Nightshade Draught could have saved his life. She knew that fifty percent wasn’t much, but he was going to die anyway if they didn’t find a something effective to cure him.

But Victoire knew that there wasn’t much that she could do. He was in full possession of his faculties, he knew what he was saying. He could have refused the therapy if he wanted.

She nodded and stepped away from him. “Do you need anything else, Mr Malfoy?” she asked gently.

“Just call my wife,” he repeated softly.

Victoire nodded again and slid out of the door silently. She closed it at her back and took a deep breath as she raised her eyes on the people in the hallway.

“How is he?” asked Scorpius anxiously.

Victoire tried to smile reassuringly, but she had never been good at lying. “He is not well,” she admitted.

Rose brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. It wasn’t good for her to fret like that when she was in that predicament. Victoire walked next to her and seized her wrist gently between her fingers to take her pulse.

“What kind of Healer are you?” hissed Astoria venomously. “How can he not be well? After all the things that you’ve administered to him?”

Victoire counted 120 beats. High. She looked at Mrs Malfoy. “He doesn’t want to continue the therapy,” she explained, “I suggested to try the Nightshade Draught, but he doesn’t want to take it.”

Mrs Malfoy looked at her with disdain. “Of course he wouldn’t take it from you,” she hissed coldly, “you’re a Weasley. He probably thinks that you want to poison him.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Scorpius angrily. His hand went to Rose’s shoulder and he squeezed it gently. Rose brought her own hand on his to let him know that she was alright.

“Don’t worry, Scorpius,” whispered Victoire gently, “people always say things that they don’t mean when they are upset.” She smiled to let him know that everything was fine. “And I’m a Lupin.” She had seen many upset people screaming at Healers in St Mungo’s, she was used to harsh words, but she knew that Scorpius and Rose weren’t. “Mrs Malfoy, I can assure you that we’ve done everything we can to heal Mr Malfoy.” She bit her bottom lip. “You might want to consider recovering your husband at St Mungo’s.”

Astoria shook her head, looking away. “No,” she replied curtly, “I told you already, Healer, my husband will not leave his house.”

Scorpius left Rose’s side to step towards his mother. “But it might be his only hope,” he told her angrily.

“He’s not going,” replied Astoria firmly, “those places are filled with people with contagious illness. He will die before they even start treating him.”

Victoire nodded even though she didn’t understand the woman’s reasoning. “Your husband asked for you,” she informed her.

Astoria looked at her furiously. “And when were you going to tell me?” she hissed.

Victoire stared at her as she opened the door to Mr Malfoy’s room and walked inside, before closing the door again. She sighed. Mrs Malfoy was probably one of the hardest people she had ever met. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for Scorpius and Rose for having to deal with her on a daily basis. And she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Mr Malfoy too.

But after all, Mrs Malfoy might just have been scared to lose her husband at that moment. Even though Rose had told her that they slept in separate rooms and that they barely spoke to each other, still… he was her husband.

And she had to be patient because, after all, they were family. Not only because her cousin had married their son, but because Victoire herself had married Teddy, becoming first cousin once removed to the couple.

She shook her head and sighed. Then she decided to put on her best smile and knelt next to Rose. “How are you?” she asked, caressing her belly.

Rose smiled back, her face tired. “I’m well,” she replied softly, “tired, but I guess that’s normal.”

“Are you tired?” asked Scorpius anxiously. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He hurried at her side. “Do you want to lie down?”

Rose stifled a laugh at his tone, but Victoire looked at her reproachfully. “It’s normal, yes,” she murmured, “but if you are tired you should rest.”

“Did you hear Victoire, Rose?” asked Scorpius anxiously, taking her hand in his. “You should go back home and rest.”

Rose brought his hand to her mouth to kiss it. “And leave you here alone with your mother? I don’t think so,” she replied gently.

“He is not alone,” Victoire assured her, smiling softly, “and I’m sure the two of us will be perfectly able to cope with her.” 

Scorpius looked at her and smiled awkwardly as if he didn’t believe it at all, but nodded reassuringly as he looked down at Rose.

“No, no, no,” she replied stubbornly, “I’m staying here until…” her words died in her throat.

“Until you know what happens,” Victoire gracefully finished for her.

Rose nodded, her eyes filling with tears. She lowered her head and pulled out a handkerchief to blow her nose. “He was so excited when we told him about the baby,” she sobbed, “he said he couldn’t wait to become a grandfather.”

Victoire stood up to hug Rose in her arms. “I’m sure he will see his grandchild,” she whispered, “and he will spoil him so much he will put Uncle Ron to shame.”

Rose half-sobbed and half-laughed, and Victoire released her. The older witch looked at her and pulled a couple of curls behind her ear. Then she raised her eyes on Scorpius and noticed that he was in much need of a hug too.

She straightened her back and let her arms slide around his waist, for he was way too tall for her to hug him around his neck. He hugged her back with an arm while he searched his wife’s hand with the other. “He’s going to be alright,” she whispered gently, before stepping back.

“I know,” he replied, even though he didn’t seem to believe it. That was okay, Victoire didn’t believe it herself, but she had to say it anyway.

Rose smiled at him and he smiled back.

“Maybe you could lie down in my old bedroom,” he told her, “it’s cold, but I can cast a Warming Charm for you.”

“Good idea,” agreed Victoire.

Rose nodded softly, finally giving in on their requests. She made to stand up from the chair, and Scorpius grabbed under her forearm to help her when Mr Malfoy’s door opened.

They all stopped what they were doing and turned their curious stares on Mrs Malfoy. She seemed even more upset than before and Victoire worried that Mr Malfoy’s untimely death had arrived even earlier than she had expected.

“Mother?” asked Scorpius feebly.

Astoria looked at him as if she couldn’t really see him, her eyes clouded with something that Victoire couldn’t quite define. Then when she finally spoke, her tone was bitter, “Scorpius, you have to go to Knockturn Alley.”

“Knockturn Alley?” asked Scorpius, horrified at the very thought. “Why?”

Rose looked up at him with her eyes wide, she grasped his hand almost spasmodically, trying non-verbally to tell him to refuse.

“You know how to get there, don’t you?” she asked, ignoring his question.

Scorpius took a deep breath. “I… I guess,” he replied, “but why?”

Astoria’s face hardened. “You will have to find a woman,” she told him, “her name is Pansy Parkinson, you’ll find her at the apothecary in Knockturn Alley. You can’t get it wrong, there is only one on that street.”

“Pansy Parkinson?” asked Victoire. “She is the woman who discovered the Nightshade Draught.”

Scorpius looked at his mother with a puzzled look. “But why do I have to go to her? Can’t we get the potion through the hospital?” He looked at Victoire hopefully and she nodded softly.

Astoria glared at him. “He doesn’t want the potion,” she hissed, “he wants  _her_.”

“Why?” asked Scorpius, without understanding.

Astoria flared her nostrils in irritation. “Can you just go and find this woman, Scorpius?” she hissed. “When you find her you will tell her about your father.” She swallowed. “Tell her everything. Tell her he is dying and he asked to see her. Tell her everything you know.” She looked away. “Tell her to bring the potion.” Her eyes snapped back to him. “Don’t come back without her, do you understand?”

Scorpius nodded and didn’t dare to reply. Mrs Malfoy looked too resolute for him to find anything to say to her.

“I’ll come with you,” announced Rose, trying to stand up from the chair.

Scorpius shook his head. “No,” he replied firmly, “that’s out of the question. You can’t Apparate in your condition.”

“That’s right,” agreed Victoire, “and I’m sure he’ll be back before you can say Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs.”

Rose smiled worriedly at her and looked at her husband, but luckily, she understood that she had to put the safety of her child first. “Be safe,” she told him softly.

“Always,” he replied, lowering his head to kiss her.

She kissed him and back and murmured against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you back,” he replied, before withdrawing and glancing at his mother gravely. “Pansy Parkinson, the apothecary in Knockturn Alley, tell her everything about Father,” he summarised her orders.

Astoria nodded softly and she kissed him on his cheek. “Come back soon,” she whispered to him.

He nodded and, with a last glance at the three witches, he walked away, down the stairs and out of the Manor.

Victoire stretched her hand towards Rose. “Let’s put you to bed,” she murmured, helping her up.

Rose nodded and, like an obedient child, she let her cousin guide her to Scorpius’ old room.

Victoire only glanced over her shoulder once. Mrs Malfoy was sitting at Rose’s place, her face hidden in her hands, her body trembling.

For the first time in her life, Victoire felt sorry for Astoria Malfoy.


End file.
